


Rubatosis

by Ausp_ice



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst with a Happy Ending, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Haunting, Healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29141721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ausp_ice/pseuds/Ausp_ice
Summary: rubatosis, n. the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat, whose tenuous muscular throbbing feels less like a metronome than a nervous ditty your heart is tapping to itself. The kind that people compulsively hum or sing while walking in complete darkness, as if to casually remind the outside world, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.Nines dies in a car crash, suddenly and without warning. But what awaits him isn't nothingness. He is pulled back into reality, called by the aching grief left behind by his death. Called back by his brother.
Relationships: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson & Connor, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26
Collections: DBH AU Big Bang 2020





	Rubatosis

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for the DBH AU Big Bang! I know it says Major Character Death but Nines is still around, so. It's not so bad, I think. 
> 
> I'd like to thank my wonderful partner [Lokiitama](https://twitter.com/Lokiitama) for their wonderful conversation and not one, but two wonderful artworks!  
> And many thanks to Lunar / [Steampunk_Chicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steampunk_Chicken/pseuds/Steampunk_Chicken) for betaing :'D

When Nines dies, it is not painful. He's in an automated car, on the phone with Connor. His brother is talking about a new dog they rescued at the shelter—a German shepherd, and a very good boy. 

It's storming—a thundering rain that's lasted a few hours already. He's on his way home to the apartment he shares with Connor.

He doesn't notice the truck. Everything was fine, and then suddenly, there's movement and noise and a shattering sound… and then nothing. 

Or… not exactly. He sees… and doesn't exactly see. He is aware, faintly, of what is happening. He feels as though he is observing the scene from an outsider's perspective, out of his body. An arm hanging out of a broken window, dripping blood. Eyes—eye? Open, unseeing. A cracked phone in the rain, still on. It's calling to him.

He reaches for it, but his hands are… translucent. They pass right through. He can hear nothing but the voice from the phone.  _ "Nines? Nines! What happened, I—I heard a crash. Nines, where are you?" _

_ I'm right here,  _ he tries to say. But no sound comes out. He stands—no, he floats above the phone, curling around it, focusing on the voice.

It's becoming harder to hear… 

White noise fills his ears. 

Connor? Where's Connor…? Brother…?

He can't think… 

* * *

There's a funeral, he thinks. He hears… things. Words directed to him. 

_ "He was my brother… but he was also my best friend. Nines… I wish we could have had more time together. And there's so much you wanted to do… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." _

Others speak as well, but the words are static. He feels… pulled. He feels echoes of grief, regret, longing, like fingers grabbing at him, keeping him from floating into nothingness. 

He does not become nothingness, but he still—drifts.

* * *

Lucidity comes and goes. He sees Connor, mostly. Sitting on their couch in silence for hours at a time. Standing in front of Nines's room, hesitating, never going in. Staring in the mirror, at the bags under his eyes. 

A friend Connor had met at the shelter comes by every now and then. Hank… something. Nines can't quite remember. He sits with Connor, lets him cry and sob and scream that it isn't  _ fair,  _ why, why did it have to be _ him.  _

Hank makes Connor come outside, makes him go on walks with his dog. Sumo? Nines thinks that's the dog's name. He seems to be somewhat aware of Nines—he sniffs around Nines's faded feet,  _ whuffs  _ softly, whines at Connor. Connor, in turn, pulls Sumo into a hug sometimes, sobbing softly. 

He's sad. He's always so sad. He doesn't eat well, even though Hank gets him food to put in the fridge. He stares at his food, at the empty chair Nines used to sit in.

"I wish you were here…" he whispers. "I wish… I wish for a lot of things. I want to hug you again… talk to you again… I wish you would show off your paintings to me again. I just want you back, Nines. I just…" He sobs, and Nines—reaches out. Wraps his arms around his brother, hovering his intangible arms just enough to look as though he wouldn't phase right through if he were to squeeze. It feels… warm. It's the first thing he's felt since the empty, hazy numbness overtook him. 

_ I'm right here,  _ Nines whispers voicelessly.

Connor blinks, rubbing his arms. Is he cold? Nines lets go, and he lets himself fade from awareness. 

* * *

Nines feels a pull whenever Connor thinks of him. A tug back into awareness. Nines will always stay with him when that happens, whether he's sitting at the sofa, eating, lying in bed, elsewhere… 

It happens often. Multiple times a day. Some days are less, some days are more, but it never seems to show signs of stopping. Nines thinks so, at least. His sense of time is… lacking. 

At some point, Connor enters Nines's room. Nines floats beside Connor's shoulder, wanting to reach out, wanting to touch. Connor is… tense. Distressed. He looks around the room, seeing the neatly made bed—black blankets over white sheets. He sees the black glass-and-wood desk, a silver laptop sitting on it. A tablet, charging on the bedside table. 

Everything is coated in a fine layer of dust—the desk, the table, the bookshelves. Connor clearly hasn't touched a single thing; everything is just as Nines left it, perfectly neat and in order. Connor quickly leaves the room and shuts the door. He runs back to his own room, crawls into bed, and gathers his messy blankets to his chest, muffling his sobs in the fabric. 

Nines feels… the pull. He follows, draws closer. He lies down next to Connor—that is, he floats on the surface of the bed—and slides a hand around the back of his brother's neck. He moves his other hand as if to brush through Connor's hair. As if he could comfort his brother the way he used to. His brother relaxes minutely, though his tears do not stop. 

_ Connor, _ Nines says, and his voice feels disembodied, as if he can hear it in his mind but not in the air.  _ I'm right here. It's alright… I'm right with you, like always.  _

Connor jolts back, pulling his tear-stained face out of the blankets and looking around warily. 

Can he… hear him? Nines sits up, setting his hands on Connor's shoulders.  _ Can you hear me?  _

Connor holds a hand to his head, brow furrowed, and then frowns before lifting a hand to one of his shoulders, right where Nines is holding him. "What the hell…" he mutters. 

_ Connor? _

Connor blinks and shakes his head, frowning slightly before he gets out of bed and goes to the bathroom.

Nines follows. If he had any sense of privacy before, he no longer has it now. He feels like he's lost many things, many emotions, many memories… or maybe they're right there, waiting to be retrieved.

He's pulled back into focus when Connor splashes water in his face, washing off the tears. He looks up as Nines comes up behind him, hovering, and then—Connor's eyes widen. He rapidly turns his head around, furrows his brow, and turns back to the mirror. "What," he says, "what's going on…?" 

Nines blinks. He draws even closer and looks at the mirror, only to see— _ himself.  _ Standing behind his brother. Very faint, very faded, but he's there. His eye widens when he sees his hazy reflection. His single eye, since his left eye is completely  _ gone, _ along with a solid region of his face—as if it had been shattered. A lightless black mist drifts from it, even as it drips like liquid out of the missing area of his face. He lifts a hand to it, absently noting that his nails are still black. 

He doesn't feel any sensation from the area. Then again, he barely feels any sensation at all. Only warmth when he touches his brother. 

He takes in the rest of his appearance: his skin is a dull gray-blue, though it's hard to tell given translucent he is, and his hair has an ethereal, smoky quality—floating as if gravity has no pull on him at all. The sclera of his remaining eye is also dark, and his pupil glows white. He's wearing a black turtleneck that just seems like solid smoke, catching no light. His pants? legs? are the same, only they fade into nothingness near his feet. 

"Nines…?" Connor whispers. "What…" He lets out a weak laugh. "Have I finally lost it?"

Connor can see him. Connor can  _ see  _ him, and Nines—Nines finds himself unsure, uncertain. What now? 

He lowers the hand on his face, hesitating briefly before setting it on Connor's shoulder. His brother stiffens, glancing at that shoulder before slowly lifting his hand to it. Connor's hand phases through Nines's to land on his solid shoulder, but Nines only transitions to putting his hand on top of Connor's, instead. 

"Oh, god…" Connor says weakly. "Oh my god, is it really you?"

_ Yes,  _ Nines says,  _ yes, it's me. I'm right here.  _

Connor's brows furrow and he shakes his head. "I… I'm sorry, I can't hear you."

Oh. Nines closes his eye for a moment before laying his other hand on Connor's shoulder, too. 

"I can feel… something," Connor murmurs. "Is this real?" 

Nines nods, drawing closer, moving his arms around his brother as if to hug him.

Connor shivers, eyes falling shut. "Have you been here the whole time?"

He nods again, and tears start slipping out of Connor's eyes. "Nines… god," he croaks, opening his eyes again to look Nines in the eye. "God, you—your face… Do you remember what happened?"

Nines takes a moment, and then shrugs and shakes his head. He doesn't remember the details. What came after.

"A truck skidded in the rain. It hit your car, and—the glass, it—" Connor holds a hand to his mouth, putting it down after a few seconds. "Your eye… and then—they said you—you d-died instantly." He makes a keening sound, gripping the edge of the counter. "They h-had to cover up that side of your face. For… for the funeral."

That… makes sense, he supposes. 

"Nines," Connor whispers. "What do I do now? You're… you're  _ dead,  _ and I—we've been together our whole lives. I don't… I don't know how to live without you."

And Nines can feel it. He knows it's true. He knows that… if the same happened to Connor, he wouldn't be able to live, either. So he wraps his arms around Connor, letting his chin rest on his shoulder. So he says,  _ I'll stay.  _

Connor wraps his arms around himself and cries. 

* * *

After Connor discovers Nines's presence and calms down, at least a bit, they try to figure out what's happening. For one thing, Connor says he can't hear much of what Nines says—usually it's just static or ringing in his ears, save for the occasional impression of a distant voice.

Connor can only see Nines in the mirror, not directly. He registers Nines's touches as a strange coldness—and insists that Nines can make as much contact as he likes. Nines can't interact with physical objects, but can make the lights flicker if he passes his hand through them. He retains awareness most when Connor is focusing on him.

Nines appears as strange tricks of light in photos and videos. Nothing substantial. Connor has Nines follow him into public spaces, public bathrooms, and it seems no one else can see Nines, even in mirrors. 

Connor seems to be doing better, and Nines feels… warmth in his chest at that thought. Connor gets a mirror to put on the dining table, angling it so that he can see Nines in his seat. He tells Nines about his day—Nines  _ does _ follow him everywhere, but sometimes he's less aware, so he appreciates Connor doing so. He talks to Nines whenever no one else is around, and Nines makes sure his brother knows he's there with a touch on his arm, his shoulder, his head. 

Connor starts smiling again. He starts sleeping better, knowing Nines is right there with him. He starts talking to his other friends—Markus, North, Josh, Simon—and they seem surprised but glad that he's improving. He starts to enjoy  _ life  _ again, and the thought makes Nines feel a warmth in his chest, one he hasn't felt since… before.

He wonders, sometimes, if this isn't a good thing. If he should let Connor move on, let him let Nines go. But then Connor has a bad night, weeping quietly in bed. "I wish I could hug you again… I miss you, even if you're here." He holds a hand out blindly, and Nines places his palm against Connor's. 

_ I'm sorry. _

"It's not your fault," he murmurs. "You were just… unlucky. And now you're dead." He laughs wetly. "Now you're haunting me, but it's the best thing that happened to me since I heard that crash over the phone."

Connor sits up suddenly, holding his arms out. "I know… I can't  _ really  _ hug you, but… can we just… pretend?"

_ Yes,  _ Nines says, and hopes Connor can hear. He drifts closer, wrapping his arms around his brother, and Connor slowly encloses Nines in his arms, likely testing where he can feel the coldness on one side of his arm but not entirely. He lets out a sound between a laugh and a sob, tears spilling out of his eyes. "God… it hurts so much, Nines. You're right here, but you still feel so far away…" 

_ I know… I know. I'm sorry.  _

Eventually, Connor's arms get tired, and his arms fall to hold himself instead. He curls up in his blankets, clutching them close. "Nines…? I turned the heater up, so… can you hold me until I fall asleep?" 

Nines answers by sinking into bed next to Connor and wrapping his arms around him. 

"Thank you," Connor whispers, and as he drifts away, so does Nines. 

* * *

The next morning, something is different. Nines comes into awareness when Connor is standing in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection, at Nines's. His eyes are puffy from crying. "Morning, Nines," he says. 

_ Morning.  _ Nines reaches up to pat this brother's hair, only to freeze when he sees the strands part for his fingers. When he realizes there's a resistance. When he realizes that his brother feels  _ solid.  _

Connor seems to make the same realization, because his eyes widen and he slowly lifts his hand to his head, covering Nines's hand with his own. His mouth parts and his eyes begin to shine when he's able to grab it and lift it away. He looks at their joined hands in reality, but based on his slight frown, Nines figures he can still only see Nines in the mirror. But now that his attention is on his reflection, Nines notices that he  _ looks  _ much more solid, too. It was so gradual—he didn't notice. 

He refocuses on their reflections when Connor turns so that their bodies are facing each other, sides facing the mirror. Connor carefully watches himself slide his hand up Nines's arm, to his shoulder, to his neck, to his cheek… to the missing piece of his face. He doesn't touch inside, but he does thumb away the black liquid, and it remains visible on his thumb—in the reflection, at least—before it disperses into smoky nothingness after a few seconds.

"I can touch you," he says, awed. 

_ And I, you…  _

"Your voice is so much clearer now, too." Connor blinks. "I wonder what this means."

_ I don't know…  _

Connor hums, and then lets his hand fall to Nines's shoulder. "There is one thing."

Nines tilts his head.  _ And what is that? _

"It means," Connor says, "that I can hug you again." He then immediately wraps his arms around Nines, encompassing him in  _ so _ much warmth. He immediately lifts his arms as well and wraps them around his brother, squeezing tightly. 

Connor shivers slightly and Nines starts to pull away, but Connor squeezes tighter—only to phase through Nines's body. Nines jolts at the sensation. It's different from the vague warmth from before. It's so strange to feel Connor's hand in his abdomen when he can  _ actually _ feel it—a vibrant heat sending a sensation almost like an electric shock through him.

Connor's eyes widen, and he pulls his arms out, settling them on Nines's back. "That's so weird," he says. "There's… resistance. Like you're solid but not quite solid?" 

_ I… suppose so. It was a very strange sensation for me, as well. _

They later discover that Nines can interact with objects, too. Not as easily as he can with Connor. He can make a pen roll by pushing his hand through it, for instance. If he focuses, he can pick up things like Connor's cup of water—but it makes it harder for him to stay aware afterwards. 

He can properly touch anything that Connor is wearing or holding, too. This discovery, which they make less than an hour after the discovery of Nines's new abilities, makes Connor hum thoughtfully. "There's… something I want to try, if you'd be okay with it."

_ What is it?  _ Nines asks. 

"I…" Connor bites his lip. "Can I try covering up your…" he gestures vaguely towards his left eye. Ah. "I just—it doesn't feel right, leaving you exposed like that. Is that something you might want to try?"

Nines hums, taking Connor's hand in his own.  _ Yes.  _

They return to the bathroom shortly, and Connor digs out a roll of white bandages. Connor first tries draping a strip across his shoulders. He blinks, surprised, before looking at the mirror. "It disappeared when I put it on you." He lifts it up, and his eyes widen with fascination. "They go back to normal when I remove them, too." He grins at Nines's reflection. "We can do this." 

He then starts carefully wrapping Nines's face, though he struggles a bit with only being able to see Nines in the mirror. Nines watches the process at first. Though—Connor's touches are warm and gentle, if a bit unsure, and Nines finds himself savoring the contact. His eye slips shut and he allows himself to relax under the touch. 

"Y-you're floating away a bit, Nines."

_ Oh.  _ Nines opens his eyes.  _ I was too relaxed. It feels nice.  _

Connor gives him a bemused smile. "It does?"

_ Your touch… your contact… it feels nice. Warm. Solid. Everything else is… numb.  _

"Oh," Connor says, smile fading slightly. He pulls Nines into his arms again, squeezing but not too tightly. It's warm.

_ Thank you, Connor…  _

Connor hums softly and pulls back. "Want to see your new look?" He looks towards the mirror, and Nines does the name. 

Bandages now wind around Nines's head, completely covering the missing part of his face. They don't seem to stain, but a bit of the dark liquid still drips out of the bottom. He reaches up to touch it, not that he gets much sensation from it. 

"Do you… like it better like this?"

Nines nods, letting his hand drop.  _ Feels… better. More stable… I think.  _

"I'm glad," Connor says, smiling.

* * *

Nines's head feels clearer every day. He feels more solid, more aware. He spends every moment by Connor's side, watching over him. They hug often when they're alone, and they always sleep with their arms around each other now. Even when Connor's at work, he might look around, shift uncomfortably in his seat, fingers twitching. He might whisper under his breath, "Nines?"

And Nines always answers with a comforting touch—sometimes a hand on his shoulder, sometimes interlacing their fingers under the table, sometimes a careful touch on the back of his neck. He says, softly,  _ I'm here,  _ and Connor relaxes, smiles slightly, and gets back to work. 

Nines is regaining his sense of time, too. As it turns out, it's been five months since he… died. He hasn't been able to process it. The numb haze in his mind was too much before, but now… 

Now he can drift to his room while Connor's asleep, slipping away from under his arms. He can see his neatly made bed, his untouched belongings still coated in dust—a thicker, duller layer that makes the room as lifeless as, well… himself. He can carefully slide his closet door open and see the canvases. Some unused, some complete, some only partially finished, never to be finished. 

Nines was an artist—he explored all media of all types, digital and traditional. It was the only way he felt like he could express himself in ways that others might understand. There was so much he wanted to share… so much he wanted to  _ say.  _ But there will be no more. His life will remain forever a work in progress, terminated before completion. He is stuck like this, unfulfilled. 

He lets himself sink to the floor. He lets sorrow overtake the numbness. He cries, shaking with quiet sobs as wetness pours from his eyes. He presses his hands against his eye and his bandages, curling into himself, letting himself finally  _ feel.  _

He barely notices the sound of his door cracking open, of Connor peeking through. "Nines…? Nines, are you okay—" a sharp gasp, and Nines raises his head to see Connor looking right at him. "I," Connor says, "I can see you. Faintly." 

Nines blinks slowly. Connor swallows and approaches, kneeling next to him. He puts a hand on Nines's shoulder, another on his arm. "Nines," he murmurs, "What's wrong?"

_ I'm dead,  _ Nines says.  _ I'm dead, and I'll… I'll never be able to finish anything I wanted to do. There's so much I could have done! Connor, I—I'm…  _ **_dead._ ** __

"Oh," Connor whispers. "Oh, Nines." Tears gather in his eyes, and he pulls Nines into a hug, pressing Nines's face to his shoulder. 

Nines clutches his brother's back, crying harder, keening. 

"It's okay," Connor says, rocking him back and forth, pressing a kiss to his wispy hair. 

_ It's—it's not—  _

"It's okay to mourn yourself, I mean," Connor murmurs. "I've had a while to process, but… I guess you haven't until now?"

Nines nods.  _ Everything was… too hazy, before. Couldn't feel much of anything. But now, I—it hurts. It hurts to feel again.  _

"I know, I know. Let it all out… it's okay."

So Nines weeps.

* * *

Things get better. For both of them. They still sleep curled around each other, but now that Connor can see him, it's… different. Better. 

Connor starts volunteering at the dog shelter again, though the dogs seem to have mixed responses to Nines's presence. Some bark at him, some try to sniff around him, some seem afraid, some approach him curiously. If no one's watching, Nines sometimes bends down and pets the curious ones. 

Sometimes the aggressive ones won’t stop barking at him and he has to let himself vanish, though. 

And—Connor's friend Hank drops by to volunteer sometimes. 

(Nines still can't get over the fact that he only recently found out that Hank is… well,  _ older _ . He honestly thought "his brother's friend" would be around their age.)

"I'm really glad you're getting better, kid," Hank says one day, ruffling Connor's hair and getting an indignant squawk in response. Hank chuckles. "Was really worried for a bit there. Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm really surprised. Are you really okay? You can take your time to mourn, y'know."

Connor hums, readjusting his hair. "I… felt really alone for a while. It felt like I'd lost half of my soul." He glances towards where Nines is floating next to him, and Nines puts a hand on Connor's shoulder. Connor smiles slightly. "But… Nines wouldn't want me to be so down. It's like he's right here with me, comforting me." He looks at Hank with a sad smile. "He may be dead, but maybe he isn't gone. Maybe he's watching over me, and that makes me feel like I'm not so alone." 

"That so…" Hank watches him with a contemplative look, before smiling and patting him on the arm. "Maybe he is, kid. Maybe he is."

There's something curious about his response, but Nines can't put his finger on it. He puts it out of his mind. 

* * *

The first time Nines possesses his brother is when he's crossing the street. Connor is deep in conversation with North, crossing the road, when there's the blaring of a horn, and Nines acts without thinking. 

He reaches desperately for Connor, and he's suddenly flooded with warmth, sensation, clarity, and he grabs North's arm and pulls both of them back to the sidewalk. 

"Holy shit!" North stumbles as she regains her footing. 

The car speeds past, the driver shouting at them, and North shouts back. "Fuck you, you're supposed to yield! Ugh, people these days." She clicks her tongue before looking directly at Nines. Huh?

"Connor, I think you saved both of us."

Wait, what?

"Connor?" North puts her hands on his shoulders. "You okay?"

"I…" Nines starts, and is shocked to hear Connor's voice. "I'm…"

_ Connor?  _ He tries to reach out internally.  _ What's happening? _

Something flickers in his mind.  _ Nines… what…? _

_ I… I think I'm in your body.  _

_ … Oh.  _

"Connor!" North shouts, and it's enough for Nines to jolt in surprise. Enough for him to phase out of Connor's body, causing Connor to collapse into North's arms. 

"Shit!" North lowers them to their knees before lightly patting Connor's face. "Come on…"

"'M okay," Connor mumbles, weakly batting away her hand. He still seems out of it. "Sorry, just… Nines…" 

Nines blinks. He's never told anyone about Nines's presence. 

North's face softens. "Sorry, yeah… he… a car crash, right?"

"Hm…?" Connor blinks a few more times, and then jolts upright. "I—yeah! Yeah…"

North gives him a slightly bewildered look at his response. "You sure you're okay?" 

"Yeah," he pushes himself to his feet. "Yeah, I should just," he glances at Nines, "go home."

"Let me take you."

"No, it's okay—" Connor starts, but lets his mouth snap shut at North's death glare.

North walks Connor home. 

* * *

"So," Connor says once they're back in their apartment, "you can possess me, huh."

Nines folds his hands in his lap.  _ So it seems.  _ They're both sitting on the couch. Connor has one foot up on the cushions.  _ How did it feel? _

"Well, at first it was like blacking out," Connor explains. "But after that, things started coming back? Like turning up the volume very gradually on my senses."

_ I see…  _

Connor hums. "Want to try it again?"

Nines blinks.  _ It's… your body.  _

"I know," Connor says. "But it's the only one between the two of us."

So Nines reaches towards Connor slowly, pressing his hand against Connor's chest. There's a bit of resistance, but it eventually gives, and the sensation of warmth surrounds his hand. Connor grimaces. "God, that feels weird. Keep going, though."

So Nines draws closer, closing his eyes and letting his instincts lead. The next thing he knows, he's once again completely encompassed by warmth. He opens his eyes and finds himself sitting where Connor was, wearing his body. He runs his hand across the sofa, soft leather brushing against his fingertips. He looks at his hands, at the pink skin, solid,  _ alive.  _

He almost feels alive again.  _ Connor…?  _ he tries asking. There's some echo in response—maybe it takes a minute. 

Nines stands up, looking around. Everything is so colorful now. So bright, vibrant. He's oddly aware of the breaths expanding and contracting his chest, the beating of Connor's heart. 

He moves to the kitchen table, picking up the mirror. It's Connor, though the expression is very much himself. As he tilts the angle, he notices something strange about his eyes, though… the light reflects in his pupils easily. Depending on the angle, it looks like his pupils are white. Interesting. 

He also can't help but notice that he can only see out of one eye. His right eye. It didn't bother him when he was a ghost, since it was more like he sensed his surroundings than like he saw them, but now… hm.

Nines sets the mirror down.  _ Connor? _

_ Mm… Nines?  _

_ Can you hear me now? _

_ Yeah…  _

_ Are you aware of your senses?  _

_ I can kinda see what you're seeing…?  _ Nines wonders if he sees out of the left eye.  _ Everything else is vague, though. _

Nines hums.  _ Is this uncomfortable for you? _

_ A… bit. I feel… disconnected from my body. But I don't mind if it's for you. _

Nines frowns.  _ Are you sure?  _

_ I'm sure. What do you want to do? Now that you have my body.  _

_ I…  _ Nines hums softly. He makes his way to his room, opening the door before moving towards his closet. He slides it open, revealing his canvases, and then slides his fingers across the edges. Flipping through them, he finds one of the last ones he worked on, picking it up and looking at it. 

It's a sketch of a lily—he'd put it away after he couldn't visualize the kind of image he wanted in his mind. But now…  _ May I, Connor? _

_ Yeah, of course…  _

He stands up with the canvas, taking it to a side area in his room, separated by a glass sliding door. Light filters through the curtains, but Nines pulls them aside, revealing the panels of glass taking up the entirety of the walls. 

It's his studio. There's a bench with neatly organized materials—brushes, paints, pencils, all sorts of things. A stool sits by an easel, and Nines places the canvas there before pulling over a side table. He grabs a palette of watercolors, two clear glasses of water, and gets to work. 

He loses himself in the brushstrokes, the colors blooming across the canvas. He lets his worries go quiet, and soon enough, he ends up with a surreal rendition of a lily, formed by the negative space of the dark purples and blues around it. 

_ It's beautiful, Nines. _

Nines bows his head, a smile fighting its way onto his face. "Thank you, Connor." He looks back up at the painting. "Connor, I can… I can paint again. I can still…" His eyes burn, and he uses the back of his hand to wipe away his tears. "Thank you."

_ I'm glad.  _

Nines puts away his things while the paint dries, and as he does, Connor asks,  _ What else do you want to do?  _

"I… " Nines pauses in his actions. "Eat something, maybe? Go outside, if you're okay with it?"

_ Of course.  _

His plans are foiled, though, when a sudden exhaustion strikes him. He barely manages to make it to his bed before he passes out. 

* * *

Nines has some kind of time limit, as they discover. Connor is exhausted, too, when he wakes up with control over his body again. He describes it as a cold heaviness, and Nines is… hesitant to continue possessing him. 

"No, please, it's okay," Connor assures, gripping Nines's sleeves from the bed. "You were so  _ happy."  _

He was. Nines felt  _ alive  _ during the possession, and he wants more of it, but…  _ Not if it hurts you.  _

"It doesn't," Connor insists. "I'm sure I just need some rest, and then I'll be good as new." 

Nines compromises with,  _ We'll see how you feel later.  _

"Okay," Connor says, loosening his grip. He looks around a bit. "Been years since I slept in your bed, ha…"

_ We sleep together every night now, though,  _ Nines says dryly. 

He laughs. "True."

* * *

They work out a system. Connor recovers after a few hours of rest if Nines reaches his limit, which is around three hours, though it gradually increases as the days pass. Nines possesses Connor no more than that limit, and they only go out in the public like that during the first hour. 

It's… incredible. To be able to feel again, to be able to paint, to even eat and experience flavors once more. To  _ live  _ again, almost. 

Surprisingly, a few weeks pass before they're caught off-guard. It's nearing the end of the hour limit of Nines's outside-time when they get a text from Josh. 

_ Been a while since we did anything, wanna go have lunch? _

And Nines traitorously wants to go himself. Josh was always nice to talk to, and he—he misses talking to him. He misses his friends, especially the ones who didn't know Connor that well. 

_ You can go,  _ Connor says. 

_ He'll likely pick up on my mannerisms right away.  _

Connor doesn't answer for a moment.  _ What if… that's okay? What if it doesn't matter if people find out? The worst that'll happen is that they think I've lost it, haha.  _

_ I'm not sure that's funny. _

_ Maybe not. Still… I want you to be happy.  _

Nines hesitates.  _ I'm dead… does it… does it matter? Your happiness matters more, you're alive…  _

_ No. Your happiness is just as important, Nines. You're alive to me.  _

Nines has a bit of a cry at that, garnering a few pitying or worried looks from bystanders, but eventually gives in. 

He goes to the cafe Josh told him to meet at, taking a deep breath before walking inside. It's a quaint little place, with a homey atmosphere, a booth, some tables, and some couches to sit on. A busy murmur fills the air with insulating noise.

He catches Josh waving at them from a distant corner—one of the sofas—and he waves back before approaching, only to find Markus, North, and Simon there, too. Nines stops a ways off. He's not sure he's ready to reveal himself to all of them at once—

"Connor, hey! The others were around so they came too…" Josh trails off as soon as they make eye contact.

"Um," Nines says stiffly, "Hello."

The others turn to look at him too, and all of them immediately look shocked.

"Wh-what?" Nines asked. Could they tell he isn't Connor already?

"Your… your right eye," Josh says haltingly. "It's… blue. Like Nines's."

_ Wait… what?!  _ Connor’s alarm cuts across his mind, entangling with his own. Nines immediately takes out his phone and turns on the selfie camera to see for himself—it's true. That's new. It's not like Nines hasn't looked at himself in the mirror while possessing Connor before—in fact, he does most days before going out. Though he supposes he doesn't often look during the later hours of possession… so it may have happened before if it only changes later, and they just didn't notice. 

"Connor," North says carefully. "What's going on?" 

"I-I," Nines stutters, taking a step back. "I'm…" It feels hard to breathe. He's not ready. This wasn't the plan. He isn't prepared. 

North stands up, approaching him carefully. "Hey, hey, it's okay. Breathe." 

Nines breathes, and North gives him a smile. "Good, that's good. Want to come sit down?" she asks. At Nines's nod, North grabs his arm gently, only to frown slightly. She takes his hand with her other hand. "You're so cold."

Really? Nines feels warm, even now. He supposes Connor does feel cold after the possessions. That makes sense. The thoughts distract him as North guides him to the others, and before he knows it, he's sitting down. 

"It's alright," she says. Nines nods, and she sits down. Nines keeps his eyes on his hands, folded in his lap. 

_ It's okay, Nines. They're all friends. I'm right here with you.  _

Nines takes a deep breath.  _ Okay.  _ "I'm… not Connor. He's—here, but he let me—he's not—I'm the one in control."

A sharp inhale from… someone. Multiple people. 

"You're Nines, aren't you." Simon's voice. Nines looks up to see him—sitting across from Nines, hands on his knees. His expression is… unreadable.

Nines bites his lip and nods. 

_ "How?"  _ Josh whispers. "You… we saw you at the funeral."

"Half your face was fucked up enough that they had to cover it," North says wryly. "That why only one of your eyes is blue?"

"North," Markus chides.

Nines lifts a hand to his left eye. "Maybe. I can't see out of it. Connor does, while we're like this." He lets his hand drop. "As for how… well. I was drifting a bit, but Connor… He thought of me, and I was there. He was so sad, and I just—I just wanted to be there for him. Tell him he wasn't alone. I couldn't, at first, but he saw me in the mirror one day. Later, we could touch each other. Even later, he could see me, and now… I can possess him, it seems."

"Well," North says, "Shit. You're a ghost. A real ghost."

Nines nods. 

Markus frowns. "Shouldn't you… move on, or something?"

"I'm  _ not  _ leaving Connor," Nines hisses, and some of the nearby lights flicker. 

"Okay, okay," Markus placates, looking around before settling his eyes back on Nines. "I'm just saying. I don't know if it's good for either of you if you're basically  _ haunting  _ him."

Nines looks down to his lap. "He's happy again," Nines says softly. "He wasn't  _ functioning _ before. What does it matter if I stay on Earth if I can be there for him? What does it matter, if I'm already dead?" 

He's answered with grimaces and somber expressions. 

"Your entire body is very cold," North notes after a moment. "Are you sure that's healthy?"

"I…" Nines's brow furrows. "I don't know." 

_ Let me talk, Nines. _

Nines blinks. "Alright." He eases himself backwards out of Connor's body, which slumps over without him puppeteering it. He grabs Connor by the armpits to keep him upright.

"Ack! Hey, are you okay?" Josh darts forward, helping prop up Connor. 

Whoops. Probably should have warned them. 

"I'm okay," Connor mumbles, lifting a finger. "Just… gimme a second." He leans back against the couch. Nines lets go, and Josh gives him a worried look before sitting down. Connor breathes, rubbing his arms. 

_ Cold? _

"It's fine, Nines, I say this every time."

"Connor?" North asks warily.

"Mm? Oh, yeah, it's me." Connor sits up. "I just wanted to say: Nines being here for me has improved my physical and mental health immensely. And I—I can give him another chance, don't you see? He can paint again, he can draw. He has a chance to do what he wants, even if it's with my body. And—most importantly…" Connor reaches up for Nines's hand, and he takes it. "Most importantly, we can be together again."

Markus shifts uncomfortably. "Is this right, though? He's dead… shouldn't you let him rest? Does he belong in the realm of the living?"

Connor tightens his grip on Nines's hand. "Who are you to decide that," Connor says lowly. "Nines didn't deserve to die. He had his entire life ahead of him. He deserves another chance, and…"

_ "We belong together." _

They say it in tandem, and the others stiffen in their seats. 

"I understand," Simon says softly. He's been silent for most of the conversation, Nines notes. "You're right. Nines didn't deserve what happened to him. And I know how you two were," he smiles wryly, "It'd be a cruel and unusual punishment to separate you."

"Simon…" Markus murmurs. 

"So, you've got to tell us," Simon continues. "How have both of you  _ really  _ been?"

Nines is grateful for the question. Connor relaxes a bit, telling Simon about how the shelter is, how he's been trying new recipes at home. The others relax, too, and when they start asking about Nines, he possesses Connor again. 

"Your eye didn't change back," Josh remarks, though they find out that it gradually turns blue over the course of the next fifteen minutes. Interesting. 

Nines talks a bit about how he's feeling, what he wants to do, how glad he is to be with Connor. What it's like to be able to eat after being dead for so long. He asks how the others are doing, he tells them that he missed them. 

The others seem to grow comfortable with the idea of Nines lingering as the conversation moves along. By the time they reach an hour and Nines decides they should be heading out, they don't refuse his hesitant request for a hug. 

They shiver slightly since he's so cold, but they all seem… happy. More or less.

"Really glad you're here," Josh tells him. 

"Don't be a stranger, okay?" North says after giving Nines a  _ very  _ tight hug. 

"It's good to see that you and Connor are doing better," Markus says.

"I'm sorry this happened," Simon murmurs. "But it's good that you have each other."

"Thank you," Nines says to them. "Thank you all." He thinks… he's happy. He's happy to be here, happy to stay, happy that he can have another chance. 

* * *

The next time Connor meets with Hank, there's someone else with him. He's dressed from head to toe in a black suit, even wearing black gloves. He has an undercut, with the hair on top of his head pulled back into a bun. 

He feels… strange. 

"Hank," Connor says cautiously, "Who is this?" He glances around warily. They're in a secluded park—no one else is around. 

"Someone I met through someone else a long time ago. Back when… back when I was dealing with Cole."

Connor's brow pinches. "Hank…"

Hank looks Connor dead in the eye. "Is your brother haunting you, Connor?"

Connor stares. 

"He is," the stranger says, voice light. "I don't doubt it."

"Hank, what's going on?" Connor takes a step back. 

Hank steps forward. "Look. He helped me let go of Cole, he helped both of us move on."

"Cole haunted you?" Connor asks faintly. 

Hank's gaze falls. "Yeah." He turns back to the stranger. "This is Elijah Kamski. He knows about… ghosts and shit."

Kamski laughs. "How crude, Anderson. But not false." He turns to Connor. "Richard 'Nines' Arkait, can you step forward? So to speak."

"W-wait." Connor grabs Nines's hand. "You're not… going to exorcise him, are you?"

"Hm." Kamski gives Connor a look. "No. I see you've already gotten to the point where you can touch him?"

"Can you see him?" Connor asks.

"I can see you holding the air." He chuckles. "No, for your brother's kind of ghost, only you, his 'bridge,' can see and touch him directly. Under normal circumstances."

_ Bridge?  _

"You seem confused." Kamski gives a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Allow me to explain. You, Connor Arkait, are your brother's bridge to the realm of the living. You are what called him back. You are what keeps him here."

"Oh." Connor bites his lip. "Also… you can call me Connor and my brother Nines. The full name thing is weird."

Hank snorts. "It is, isn't it? He's just a weird guy."

"Yes, yes. Now please step forward, Nines. I just want all of us to be able to see you."

Nines exchanges a look with his brother before floating forward, hovering in front of Kamski, who in turn pulls a rolled-up piece of fabric out of his suit. He flips it out like some kind of large handkerchief before setting it on the ground and gesturing towards it. 

It looks like some kind of… magic circle, inscribed on the white cloth in red. Nines is not sure he wants to know what the red is. He floats over it, giving a slight shiver when an electric feeling runs through him. 

He looks up to see both Kamski and Hank looking at him, the latter's eyes wide. Nines looks away, nervous, only for Connor to step up and take his hand. "Right here with you."

Nines nods, grateful.

"Hello, Nines," Kamski says. 

_ Um… Hello, Mr. Kamski.  _ Nines looks back at him.  _ Do you… know how this works? _

"I do, in fact." Kamski laces his fingers together. "I suspect your existence gradually strengthened the more time you spent with Connor?" 

Nines nods, and Kamski smiles. "The two of you are, in a sense, synchronizing. The life that binds Connor to his body, to this world, is adjusting to include Nines."

_ What does that… mean? _

"Nines's presence in this world will grow stronger and Connor's will grow weaker, of course." Kamski tilts his head, birdlike. "Perhaps you've noticed yourself becoming colder, Connor? Your brother's touches don't feel as icy? Perhaps you are a little more tired than usual? And Nines—you've been feeling more alive again, yes?"

Nines feels a cloying pressure in his chest.  _ I… I'm killing him?  _

"Oh, no, not at all." Kamski waves his hand. "Well, maybe in a way. But really, the opposite. If you keep going the way you are now, you can make him immortal. Ageless, that is."

"Wait. What?!" Connor gapes. "How does that even work?"

"Well. Nines is frozen in time, in a way, and his phantasmal energies equalize with your life force. Both of you become frozen—half-dead, half-alive, in different ways."

"Hold on a fucking second," Hank says. "You said you'd help them, not—enable them, or whatever this is! And you never told me about all that bullshit!"

"What's right for you isn't what's right for everyone, Anderson. Everyone has different needs. Your son needed to move on, and so did you. If this is what they choose, if this is what makes them happy, then why would you force your way of thinking on them?"

"It's," Hank falters, "It isn't right. Is it? They'd just be… stuck."

"What  _ is  _ right, Anderson? Do you judge on your personal morality? The world's? Besides… I am only offering information. They can choose what to do with it."

_ What's the other option?  _ Nines asks. 

"Nines…" Connor murmurs. 

Kamski hums. "The other option is that the two of you learn to let each other go. The attachment occurs both ways, and both must be resolved in order for Nines to move on."

_ What comes after?  _

"Who knows?" Kamski shrugs. "Nothingness? Heaven? Reincarnation? The spirits I send off can no longer tell me."

_ I see…  _ Nines squeezes Connor's hand. 

"There is a third option," Kamski says. 

_ What is it?  _

He smiles and tells them.

* * *

The autocab stops, and Connor jolts back into awareness.  _ "Arrived,"  _ the computerized voice tells him. 

He quickly climbs out of the car, looking up at the overcast sky. Nines's favorite weather. After a moment, he straightens his shirt and adjusts the flowers in his elbow. White lilies. Also Nines's favorite. 

He enters the gates of the cemetery, picking his way through the neat rows of headstones until he finally makes it to one labeled,  _ RICHARD "NINES" ARKAIT. August 15, 2009 – November 10, 2038. A beloved brother.  _

"Hey, Nines," Connor says. "Been a few weeks. Well, two. As usual. I got that promotion at my job I told you about. Sorry you missed it." He sets the flowers down on the headstone. "Josh wants to see you again. Missed the chance to tell you about a few things."

Connor chuckles. "Hank seems happy with our choice—he came by to keep me company again! Like I'll lose it if you're not around. I accidentally called him 'dad,' that was so embarrassing."

A snicker in his mind.  _ Wish I'd seen it. _

Connor rolls his eyes.  _ "That's _ what you comment on?"

_ It takes me a while to wake up. Besides, you're the one who spills your heart out when you're here. You talk like I'm dead or something, you overdramatic buffoon.  _

Connor snorts, standing up. "I resent that."

Icy arms circle around his waist from behind.  _ You love me.  _

Connor turns around, seeing the familiar ghostly face of his brother, grinning cheekily. "Yeah," he says, smiling. He hugs him back, sinking into the touch. "I do. Welcome back."

They part, and Connor takes Nines's hand. "I've gotta show you all the new stuff that's happened! We've only got two weeks, let's use them wisely."

Nines rolls his eye.  _ You can always save it for the next time you summon me from the grave. _

"But then I'll have  _ more!"  _

_ Heh. I know.  _ Nines leans over and hugs Connor, resting his chin on his brother's head.  _ I love you too, Connor,  _ he says, and a warm tenderness fills Connor's entire heart. 

_ Let's go home.  _

_ _

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed!  
> I did also make some art of this myself, but I'm saving it for here since I wanted Lokiitama's stuff to come first.  
> So [here](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/694230715214069781/748241090171109386/image0.jpg) is a reference of what Nines looks like, and [here](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/767110823611990067/775112843661148210/image0.jpg) is Nines's painting. 
> 
> Lokiitama's artworks can be found on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/Lokiitama/status/1356386907882614786?s=20) and on Tumblr [here](https://art-lokiitama.tumblr.com/post/641962141832871936/whoop-whoop-ive-been-working-on-the).
> 
> Fun facts:  
> \- Kamski may be immortal in the way he described. Chloe might be haunting him.  
> \- Simon may be haunted by Daniel.  
> \- Amanda might be an independent sort of ghost. Kamski chats with her though
> 
> Check me out on social media: [](https://www.deviantart.com/ausp-ice) | [](https://ausp-ice.tumblr.com) | [](https://twitter.com/Ausp_ice) | [](https://www.instagram.com/ausp.icium)
> 
> I'm also in [Detroit: New ERA](https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm) server! I have my own channel if you'd like to yell at me or just talk.


End file.
